Hunting the Disappeared
by SkyHolt
Summary: With Sherlock gone, John Watson has decided to use the second-best consulting detective to find him. And who else but Irish child genius Artemis Fowl would fit the bill?
1. Meeting over Tea

**A/N: No, of course I don't own the characters. Wish I did, but don't we all?**

The man with the cream pullover checked his watch. 10:13. Two minutes early. He attempted to calm himself as he stared up at the large wrought-iron gates. It wouldn't do to arrive at a meeting unprepared, and today was no exception. His finger (shaking slightly; a sign of anxiety rather than stress or fear) hovered over the intercom. He pressed it. "John Watson, for an appointment with Artemis Fowl the second."

Artemis glanced up from his cataloguing as the buzz from the intercom sounded. He was working on a new project – how to tell the maximum amount of information about a person by just looking. Although deduction was not an area he had much experience in, he had been fascinated by the tale of London detective Sherlock Holmes. After extensive research, Artemis was sure that many of the legends surrounding him were true, and became determined to become his equal. Unfortunately, the man had apparently committed suicide two months ago, and although after a careful review of the facts Artemis was sure it had been faked, there was no sign of the detective. On the plus side, Artemis was beginning to gain a reputation in yet another specialist circle. This was his fourth case. From habit, he turned to face the screen showing CCTV, even though he already knew who was there: "John Watson, for an appointment with Artemis Fowl the second."

The two sat opposite each other in the large, dark-panelled hall. Artemis already knew the man was a doctor (John H. Watson, M.D., his business cards stated) and had deduced from the slight stains on his teeth but not his fingers, and the pale brown spots on the cream pullover, that he was a fan of tea. Probably Earl Grey. He called to Juliet: "Two cups of Earl Grey, please. You know how I like mine, the doctor appears to like his…" he checked the pullover again: "strong." He turned to John. "I've been practising."

"So I see. But the question is…" John hesitated, "are you as good as Sherlock?"

Artemis raised an eyebrow, a slightly intimidating trick he had mastered aged nine. He hadn't been expecting something like this quite so soon, and mentally berated himself: _Always expect the unexpected_. His eyes dropped for a second. "No."


	2. Over the Irish Sea

**Once again, no I do not own these most awesome creations. Do not hesitate to tell me if they're acting too OOC.**

Artemis sat in the cockpit of his private plane. He was planning to make it eco-friendly (a project strongly encouraged by his mother), but was still planning the design. A slight creaking noise from the back made him turn his head slightly. They were nearing London Heathrow and the plane seemed fine, John Watson seemed incapable of moving (probably something to do with the fact he was being flown by a 14-year-old), and he could only think of two things that could be making that noise. A flash of dark in the corner of his vision both confirmed and narrowed down his suspicions. He sighed and turned to face the front again. "Myles Fowl, sit down and put your seatbelt on!"

Myles popped up, grinning. "Artemis simple-toon!" he giggled. "I don't want seatbelt, simple-toon seatbelt substimulating!" The three-year-old had recently learnt about alliteration and was determined to use it as much as possible.

"Three points. Firstly, although seatbelts are, as you say, substimulating, you need to wear one." He noticed John paling. "No, don't worry, I'm a perfectly competent pilot, but the plane could always malfunction. Expect the unexpected. Secondly, 'substimulating' may be an excellent example of alliteration, but it is not a recognised word in the English language. Thirdly, it is pronounced 'simpleton', not 'simple-toon'. Mother tells me you said it like that aged two, grow up!" Artemis stopped talking abruptly, flicking a lever on the dash and bringing the plane down. He had skirted what appeared to be a large heat haze, for no reason John or Myles could see. The airfield loomed up in the windscreen, and Artemis brought the plane down, the most gently he had managed so far. However this still resulted in Myles whacking his funny bone, John cracking his head on the windscreen, and Artemis getting a slight case of whiplash. He grinned. "I'm improving!"

Having made it through Customs (Myles had a spare passport in the plane), Artemis suggested that John pretend to be their father to avoid suspicion. He had learnt the hard way that most adults did not take kindly to a minor in charge, and although this was usually the case for him, he preferred to try to blend in. Usually Butler would play the part, but the bodyguard was currently on holiday, recovering from a particularly nasty wound. Artemis had promised not to get into trouble, but then Artemis's promises were never worth all that much.

The trio took a taxi to John's flat, 221b Baker Street. On the way, John told them how he had had a flat share with Sherlock due to a lack of money, and although with his job at the surgery he could easily move out now, the nostalgia kept him there. "Also… If Sherlock does come back – it's the first place he'll look for me at. He didn't think much of sentiment, but he knows normal people have it."

Artemis nodded. He knew exactly what the doctor meant, the case in point being how Butler had stayed on in Ireland whilst Artemis was in Limbo, waiting for his young charge – no, his friend – to come home. And Artemis had known exactly where to find him.

John wasn't sure why he was telling Artemis all this information. In general, he preferred not to go around telling random strangers everything about himself, so much so that Ella, his one-time therapist, had said he had trust issues. _Take that, Ella_, he thought. _Trust issues my foot!_

It was 6pm and Myles was beginning to tire. Artemis decided to book them into a B&B, while John went back to his flat. The rooms were small and it was definitely nothing like the usual choice for a Fowl, but Artemis didn't want to be noticed at that moment, and if there was one thing a 14-year-old would attract by walking into the Savoy and booking a room, it was unwanted attention. After making sure Myles was in bed (tucked up with his laminated Periodic Table of Elements), Artemis unpacked his laptop, set up his specially adapted signal finder, and began a search in the Internet's back corners for information on John Watson, Sherlock Homes, James Moriarty, and anything to do with Consulting Detectives.

Another individual who did not want to be noticed was currently sitting in a branch of Starbucks in Kew, London. In front of him was a full cup of coffee, a battered laptop, and a phone. Although he did not favour coffee, the man was determined to quit his nicotine habit in a way that did not involve harpooning dead pigs, and coffee seemed to be the second choice for mind-stimulation. H was also trying to make what was, by his standards, an unusually hard decision, and needed somewhere he could sit and think without being interrupted. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, his thumb hovered over the first of two numbers he had put on speed dial. The first was a contact who had promised to help him, and the second was nothing but a foolish impulse. But after ten seconds, he sighed and put the phone down. Even Molly Hooper couldn't help him make this choice, and the second number… No, that was just preposterous. He wasn't ready yet. He would have to make this decision on his own.

Ten minutes and half his cup, he sighed. He opened a new email account, slipped a third SIM card into his phone, and opened a new page. A few clicks later, a pop-up appeared. 'Are you sure you want to create a new webpage?' He rolled his eyes and mumbled: "Yes, yes, I am," pressed 'OK'. 'Please enter your chosen web address.' Damn pop-up. He typed: ' .uk'. Thirty minutes later, his new website was complete. Careful to upload his monogram on 243 types of tobacco ash, the world's original consulting detective left the café.

Thirty minutes past midnight, and Artemis Fowl II was still trawling the net. He had started using more and more obscure references, each turning up nothing, until even the child genius started to become discouraged. Then he stopped. _Sometimes things will be hiding in plain sight_. Checking his place on the current page (an advert site for dodgy-sounding private eyes), he opened a new tab and searched for any page created in the past 24 hours, keywords 'consulting, backstreet, detective, police, Reichenbach'. Half a second later, the computer spat out its answers. There were two. One about police detectives, and one… Artemis clicked on the link. The first thing to load was a hyperlink to an essay on 243 types of tobacco ash, a subject Artemis had read (in fact, almost memorised) only one piece of work on. It was utterly useless – but he could still remember nearly all the content. Just to be sure, he checked it. It was exactly the same one. "Bingo!"


	3. The Game is On

**A/N: ****I know Artemis would probably have an Apple Mac not a Windows laptop, but I have Windows so I know how to use that. Also I can't be bothered to check how to ping an IP on Apple. Also, I'm flattered, but the characters aren't mine.**

"Artemis? Wake up, it's 8:30!"

"'Timus? Simpletoon overslept!"

Artemis sat up, opening his eyes. He had a stiff neck from sleeping in front of the computer, and a headache from the badly illuminated screen. In addition, he had slept for eight hours, instead of his customary nine or ten. Nevertheless, 8:30 was later than he would have liked to start, and he was ready to begin the hunt for the disappearing detective. After all, he did have his first clue!

After eating breakfast, Artemis went back to his laptop to track the page. He hoped to just track the most recent IP addresses (figuring there would not be many due to the website's hardness to find), but if Sherlock Holmes was as clever as he seemed, he would have made it impossible to find. There was no harm in trying the conventional method first though…

His laptop was new: a Windows 7. He preferred it to Windows 8, as it was easier to open programmes; and it was compatible with more than smartphones or iPads. He opened the command module and typed: 'ping .uk', and waited. Nothing came back; it was as if the Internet had simply swallowed up the quest for information like a dragon lying in wait for knights. So much for the conventional method. Fortunately, Artemis was not a conventional person, and he had the advantage of fairy technology.

Unpacking his v-board and holo-projector, he logged in and opened the prototype tracking programme he had hacked from Foaly's computer. He typed in the HTML address and let the search begin.

The holo-projector began showing a globular map, floating above the desk. There were green lines radiating around it and from the centre. All very melodramatic and unnecessary, but then Foaly always was a show-off. Deciding to let the virtual scanner/tracker do its work, he shrunk the image, opened a new notebook (a paper one, people would only stare if he took along his v-board) and attempted to start a plan. But half an hour later, when the programme announced its search both complete and successful, our teenage mastermind was, for once, stumped.

Sherlock took out his laptop. He was sitting on a bench somewhere in Hyde Park, Central London. Although he really should have been emailing Molly Hooper (she had become slightly overprotective after the Moriarty thing), he wanted to check his website first. He was just so bored with no cases. Checking his site's traffic, he frowned. Tow computers had pinged him. One had used the usual method, and of course it hadn't got through his extensive blocks. But the other one… He'd never seen anything like it. The log said that not only had it bypassed every bit of his security, but also it had pinpointed his exact location.

There was only one upside to this mess. The most recent of the scans had been two hours ago, and as no-one had arrived it was quite unlikely it would be followed up now. However, he hadn't moved around much then, and so it was as much for reasons of security that Sherlock bought a ticket (with cash, to avoid laying a computer trail) and caught the District line to Richmond Station as for a change of scene.

However, the great detective was rather bored and if someone that good was tracing him, they were probably working off Moriarty's last orders. Time to play a little game of his own. Whilst working out who was most likely to be tracking him, he opened his site and typed in a message: 'You think you know what you're doing. You don't but if you want it that badly… The game is on!'


	4. Hide and Seek

**A/N: Yeah, sure, I'm some evil combination of Mofftisson and Colfer. I will KILL ALL YOUR CHARACTERS AND TROLL YOU FOREVER! [/sarcasm]**

Back at the B&B, Artemis was all for going to Hyde Park. The genius was trying to pretend he knew what to do, but his little brother was quick to point out the obvious flaw in the plan: "He won't be there! He will check the website if he's scared, he'll see you've been there, and he'll go away! It's like hide-and-seek!"

"Fine!" snarled Artemis. "I don't know what to do. Now why don't you go think of some ingenious plan that can't go wrong and leave me ALONE!"

"Wow," said John, "That was unexpected… You know, you two remind me somewhat of Sherlock and Jim, always fighting over who's cleverest."

"C'mon!" said Myles, "Let's go think! Arty will come later."

Two hours later, John and Myles had yet to come up with a sensible plan, and Artemis was still sulking. It was obvious that nothing more would happen that day – or night, as the sky was rapidly darkening. John went back to 221B, and Artemis finally got up and went out to fetch some milk.

Sherlock sat at the window of his hotel room. Although he was pretty sure he wasn't being tracked, he wanted to keep an eye out for this Fowl person. Being curious as to who was chasing him, he had decided it must be someone very clever, who would also be interested in him. He had discarded the Moriarty theory as he would have heard about it sooner – it was over two months since he had jumped, for goodness sake! –and he had decided it must be an amateur detective. Running this search through his mind palace produced two results: a middle-aged lady named Rose Brown, who seemed to be trailing someone in Sumatra, and an Irish teenager called Artemis Fowl. More searching had revealed very little, except for basic information and a photograph. The kid didn't even have a Facebook page.

His hotel was near a slightly scruffy B&B and a corner shop, the only ones in the immediate area. Sherlock was fairly convinced that Fowl wouldn't be able to find him, as he was carefully watching the hotel's front entrance (no-one suspicious was staying there and no-one strange had come in); someone rich like Fowl wouldn't stay in a B and anyway, what was the chance they would stay in the same place? London is a huge city, full of hotels and places to stay. The chance of Fowl even staying on this road were, what? 1 in 1000?

Snapping out of his thoughts, Sherlock resumed his gaze out of the window. A thin figure was just exiting the corner shop, carrying what appeared to be milk. Sherlock was about to turn away when his brain clicked and he recognised the figure. Fowl had found him.

Artemis had just bought the milk, and was walking back to the B&B when a heat haze appeared. It descended rapidly, and once it was touching the ground it melted away to reveal a very small person. Actually, not a person; it was Holly Short, the elf and captain in the LEP. "Artemis."

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing…"

"Don't lie, mud boy. You must be up to something or you wouldn't be in London. Even Foaly's worried about you! Is it something illegal, this project of yours?"

"What? No, I can promise you it's all totally above board. I'm trying to cut down on the crime, you know that."

"Good. You're surprisingly nice, especially for a mud kid, but we don't want you to turn into a – what was that criminal's name? The one in your news?"

"Jim Moriarty?"

"Yes. We don't want you turning into a Jim."

Artemis looked down. Although he had helped save the planet on more than one occasion, he was still infamous as a thief and kidnapper among the fairy People.

"Don't worry. That will never happen."

"Good. But seriously, what are you doing?"

"I… I would prefer not to tell you. Promise me that you won't follow me or pester me."

"Why?"

"Just promise me, Holly."

"Alright. I promise."

"Thank you." Artemis smiled. "Now, I'm afraid I need to go, or this milk may start going off. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye, Artemis!"

Artemis watched as Holly melted away, and then stared at the air until the heat haze was lost to sight. Then he went inside and put the milk in the fridge.

Sherlock knew what he was going to do. Not that he was happy about it.

He got up, putting on his black coat and trademark blue scarf, and turned out of the door and towards the darker alleyways. He was going to contact someone from his homeless network.

"Jeremy?"

"Oh, hello, Sherlock. Nice to see you."

"I have a… job for you." Sherlock was not that happy about entrusting this to his homeless network, but he couldn't really afford to risk being spotted, and to be honest they would probably do a better job than he would.

"Which is?"

"You see this photo?" Sherlock pulled out the picture of Fowl. "I need… I need you to attack this person. Tomorrow. He's staying in the B&B just down the road. Attack anyone with them too, but please don't kill anyone."

"Gottit. How much will you give me?"

Sherlock pulled a roll of notes out of his pocket. "Have it now. I trust you to get it done."

Artemis sat by the window. Myles was safely in bed, and tomorrow Artemis planned to take him to Bushy Park before continuing the hunt. He was sure that John wouldn't mind.

But had he been right in forcing Holly away? It was true that she would probably get in their way, but… She was his friend. It was done now, though.


	5. Not Quite a Fairytale

**A/N: I have finally unleashed some plot twists! But this is not the end... Yet.**

**Equation concerning me and the characters: Characters =/= Mine.**

The next day dawned bright and sunny, like at the end of a fairy-tale where the forces of hood had triumphed. Artemis woke Myles at seven, and they breakfasted. Artemis had a cup of tea while they waited for John to arrive, and noticed vaguely that they were out of milk again.

At half past eight, there was a knock on their door and John came in. "Right, so what're the plans for today?"

"Sherlock hunt aside, I was hoping to take Myles to Bushy Park."

"I meant about Sherlock, actually."

"Well, I'm going to use my tracer again. Sherlock won't be able to put up a firewall against it, especially not in one day, and if we lock it onto his site then it will tell us where he is. But first," said Artemis, "it's a lovely day. Let's go to Bushy Park!"

The air was hot, even in the shade of the many chestnut trees that lined the paths. The three sat on a bench, smiling because of the nice weather and because they were so near the end of their quest. Myles wasn't completely satisfied though. He tugged on Artemis's sleeve.  
"Artemis, why is that man following us?"

"Don't be silly, He's not following us, he just happens to be going the same way."

"No, he's following us. I saw him! He was walking behind us earlier, and he looks away when I turn round."

"Okay… Where is this man?"

"Over there," Myles pointed. Jeremy was standing behind a tree trunk, preparing himself. He wasn't sure about beating up a three-year-old, but Sherlock had paid him and he needed to keep the trust… The kid made up his mind for him by pointing directly at his hiding place. Jeremy ran straight at the bench.

Artemis recognised the pose from watching Butler. It was too late for him to run away, unfit as he was, but he could save his brother… "Myles!" he whispered in the boy's ear. "RUN!" Then Jeremy was upon them.

Myles had taken off even before Artemis finished his sentence. He was terrified but couldn't desert his brother, so he hashed as far as he dared and hid in the bracken, watching the scene unfold with wild eyes.

Artemis had turned away, shielding his head. It was pointless for him to even try to fight, and all he could do was sit there while Jeremy attacked them. It wasn't long before a boot whacked just above his right eyebrow, temporarily knocking him out.

If he had been warned, John would have been a pretty fair match for Jeremy. Although he had been a doctor, he had still gone through basic training, and as he had once told Sherlock 'he had his bad days'. But he had been caught unawares and although he managed to land a few blows on Jeremy, the soldier caught a particularly hard blow and fell sideways awkwardly onto his hand, sending a shockwave up his arm and breaking his collarbone. It was an open fracture as well, and the fast blood loss from the wound meant he was out of the fight for good.

Sherlock hid behind the bushes and in the bracken – wherever was available. He knew he was taking a risk being out in such a busy area, but he wanted to make certain that Jeremy did a good job. Also, someone needed to call the ambulance, and Jeremy was one of a very few people in the developed world who did not own a mobile.

However, what he saw made him gasp with horror: John was there! The detective watched open-mouthed as John fell over, clutching his collar. He needed to stop this no.

"Jeremy, don't!"

"What?" Jeremy turned, confused. Sherlock punched him. "That is my friend!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?"

"I'm sorry! But you hurt my friend!"

"If you want your money back, that's not going to happen."

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't want it back. Just… Go away, please."

Jeremy wandered off. He didn't really care what the detective thought. There was plenty of work, if you knew where to look.

Sherlock crossed over to John. Fowl was still out cold, and he needed to check if John was alright. Sherlock sighed as he saw the broken nubs of bone. John would be in shock for sure.

"John."

Silence.

"John? Listen to me."

John's voice was slurred. "Not… Sherlock. Can't be. I'm hallucinating."

"No, it really is me. Listen, it's going to be alright. You know first aid better than I do, you're the doctor here, you know what to do. I'll call the ambulance."

"Right."

While John was sitting up painfully, Sherlock called an ambulance. He was forced to listen to the man's chatter on what to do, which seemed to be exactly what John was doing: immobilise the arm, lean against something, wait for the ambulance. While the guy continued to prattle, Sherlock stuffed his phone in his pocket and dragged Fowl out of the way. While hiding the boy, he noticed John suddenly slump over, he dropped everything (mainly a lot of vegetation) and ran over.

John appeared to have fainted, and so Sherlock put him in the recovery position. He could now hear sirens and realised he would have to leave or be at risk of being seen. He switched off his phone and walked off.

Artemis's head hurt. He blinked at the sky, and wondered if Myles was okay. He sat up and looked around, but there was no sign of his little brother. It appeared that Sherlock was walking off, though; now could be a good time to get some answers. He stood up, and promptly fell over again. Right, he thought. Let's try that again… He managed to finally get up without falling over, and ran after Sherlock. Well, he tried to. Because he spent so long thinking rather than outside, and as he never had got round to buying a gym, paired with his natural athleticism, Artemis was hopeless at running. He would barely have been able to catch up with Sherlock if the detective had been walking. Luckily, his misguided attempt at finding answers meant he stumbled over his terrified brother.

Pulling Myles up, he led him back to the bench, where an ambulance was just about to take John to hospital. Deciding not to get involved, he stood at the side with Myles and blended in with the confused picnickers who had come across the scene. As the vehicle left and the crowd drifted apart, Artemis left with Myles. He decided he would try doubly hard now to find the detective, as the attack and Sherlock were almost certainly related.

Back at the B&B, Artemis sat fiddling with his phone. He had decided to give himself a short break, to see if his subconscious would complete the reasoning for him. As he completed the final lines of code to hack into Bill Gates's bank account (a side-project of his), his phone hiccupped. Artemis sighed. It looked like Myles had hacked it and changed the text alert again. Oh well. Last time it had happened, the replacement sound had been a recording of Mulch eating.

He checked the screen.

'St Bart's Hospital roof. Come and play. –SH'

A text from the detective. Similar to the one that consulting criminal had sent to Sherlock before 'robbing' the Tower of London. What was his name, again? Jim Moriarty. Or Rich Brook, as he was known as to most people. Artemis had worked out that Rich Brook was a play on 'Reichenbach', a reference to a case of Sherlock's, as soon as he'd seen the reports. It appeared that most people hadn't, but then most people never saw what Artemis did.

He sighed. Although he was perfectly aware that Sherlock knew about him, he was pretty sure that he was unaware of his little brother. At least Myles wouldn't come to harm, then. He texted back: 'Will be there in 1 hour. –AF'

He got up. "Come on Myles. We're going to a library."

"'Kay! Can I get book out?"

"I'm afraid not. We don't have library cards to use in London."

"Aw. How long will we have?"

"You. Not we. I have business elsewhere. I'll… I'll come and collect you when I'm done.

"'Kay."

"The place you're going is called Guildhall Library, you'll like it. It has a lot of interesting content on London."

"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down…" Myles started to sing.

"No, Myles. Information, not songs. Come on, we need to go."

Artemis pulled out a small rucksack he had bought the day before, and put in it some money, a map (in case Myles got lost, Artemis knew the streets of London by heart) and Artemis's tracker. They then set off to the bus stop to go into London.

Artemis dropped Myles off at the library, and set off on foot towards St Bart's. He had purposefully chosen the closest library to St Bart's, as he didn't want to leave an electronic trail as to where he was going, not when he was so close. If this went wrong, he didn't want anyone to find out what happened – that someone had beaten Artemis Fowl. He didn't bother checking on Myles, and therefore didn't notice his little brother sneaking after him, determined to find out where he was going.

Sherlock was sitting on the roof of St Bart's, almost exactly where his old enemy had been just two months before. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do. Fowl was just a child, true, but he was becoming a nuisance. To be frank, the choice was either turn or remove Fowl, or be discovered. He would try to talk to him, give him a chance. He wasn't, after all, Jim.

Artemis made his way through the corridor, pausing only to consult his map of the building. Technically it was a map he shouldn't have had, a plan of every floor and passageway way back from the original plans. He had hacked it off a records site.

He shivered, and pushed open the door to the rooftop.

As Fowl appeared, Sherlock stood up. He wasn't going to bother with background music – he wasn't an arch-villain, after all.

"Fowl. We need to talk."

Artemis nodded, and stepped closer.

"No-one can find out. That I'm alive, I mean. It would put my friends in mortal danger. And to be honest, I'm just not ready to go back."

Artemis nodded. "I understand. But don't worry, I don't think your friends are in danger. For the past couple of months I've been tracking down the ones who pose a risk to them, and I set Butler on them. He's my bodyguard, by the way. On holiday at the moment. Anyhow, I sincerely doubt they'll pose a risk."

"No. I'm not ready."

"Couldn't you at least tell John? You are… were… best friends."

Sherlock shook his head. "No-one."

Artemis sighed. Although he didn't want to disappoint his client, he could understand Sherlock's reasoning. "I won't tell him, then. I guess I could say my tracker failed, or something."

"Thank you."

By now, Artemis was sitting near Sherlock on the edge of the building. Sherlock stood up to leave.  
"No, wait! I have an idea… Maybe we could work together?" Artemis did his shark grin.

"What on?"

"Anything. We're both genii, we have no limits!"

Sherlock thought about it. "Maybe."

"I'll get in touch."

Artemis stood up to go back in, but the heel of his hand-stitched loafers caught on the parapet. The unathletic teen's eyes widened in shock as he overbalanced – backwards. Sherlock took a step towards the boy, but by the time he reached the edge, Artemis had already hit the pavement below. The consulting detective gasped. But there was nothing he could do. A surprise fall from that height, with nothing to soften the blow, would almost certainly have killed the teenager. He exited the rooftop.

**A/N: Sorry if I did any of that badly! The worst thing I've ever done to a character before this story is lock them in a shed overnight... So I haven't had much practice.**


	6. Epilogue 1: 1984

**A/N: Characters aren't mine. Sorry for inaccuracies/feels.**

Myles had decided to wait outside the hospital. He didn't know what was going on, and he thought he would probably get lost inside the building. It didn't occur to him that there would be other entrances; for all his genius Myles was still only three years old, after all. So it was a huge surprise to him when his brother hurtled out of the air to land on the pavement opposite him, narrowly missing a strange heat haze the child had been watching.

He dashed across the road, and knelt by his brother, frantically checking his pulse and breathing. He barely noticed the heat haze dissolving to reveal a young demon – a novice warlock called Qwet. She had recently been receiving tutoring from Qwan, and her friend N˚ 1 had been giving her a little extra information – on subjects such as opening a time stream.

Myles noticed the fairly out of the corner of his eye. Having secretly observed the People (including N˚ 1) when they visited Fowl Manor, he was unsurprised. "Please!" he said, "Help my brother!"

Qwet wasn't sure what to do. The human had asked for help, true, but fairies weren't supposed to help humans. However, she had been hoping to practice opening time streams for live subjects… Maybe she could try that on them after. She put her fingertips on the tall human, and spent sparks of magic into him, healing him. However, Artemis did not have much practice at recovering from injuries, and remained unconscious. Qwet shrugged. Checking there were no other humans around, she decided to try opening a time stream where she was. If she took the humans home, she thought, she wouldn't be allowed to try.

She knew there was a significant risk that something would go wrong, and she would almost certainly get stuck in the past, but she didn't mind. She desperately wanted to be able to do something N˚ 1 could, and theoretically she could just transport herself back to now again…

She took a few deep breaths, and before the young human could ask what she was doing, she touched their shoulders lightly and opened the time tunnel.

Myles opened his eyes. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but it hadn't been pleasant. And now the fairy thing was _looking_ at him again.

Qwet decided she'd better do a quick mind-wipe on the small human. It wasn't that good that he had seen her, and she didn't really know what to do with him. She touched his head and sent a burst of magic to try to wipe his mind of fairies. Unfortunately, raw-magic mind wipes are a lot less specific than precision-controlled tech ones. So Myles was unlucky enough to lose most of his personal memories, as well as any connected to magic and the irrational.

The boy opened his eyes. He felt happy for a split second, but soon he realised he had no idea about anything. He could remember lots of facts, but himself and his past life? Nothing. Except he was three years old.

There was a piece of newspaper nearby. The date said: 18 August 1984. Myles picked it up. The front page was mainly stories about hostilities with other countries, along with a small ad for a home security company called Shirley's Locks. He smiled. Shirley's Locks. Shirlocks. Sherlock. It sounded like a name. Maybe it was his name. It suited him well.

A policeman soon found the boy reading the scraps of news.

"What're you doing, sonny?"

"Don't know. M'name's Sherlock, not Sunny." He spotted some small hairs on the man's trouser leg. "You have a Labrador? Lucky. Were you aware that the Labrador breed originated in Canada to help fishermen land their catch?"

"How did you know that?"

"Think I read it on the net."

"The what? Oh, never mind. That wasn't what I meant anyway. Now, hadn't you better go home? Your mum will be worrying about you!"

"Don't have a home. Haven't got a mummy, either."

"Really? You'd better come with me then, and sort it out."

And so the policeman took the self-named Sherlock along to the nearest orphanage.

The precocious three-year-old proved to be able to work out the strangest things about people. He didn't seem to want anything to do with stories about the supernatural – especially fairies – although no-one was quite sure why.

He was soon spotted by the Holmes family. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes wanted another child as a companion for their son Mycroft, but Mrs. Holmes was unable to have any more children. So they came to the orphanage instead.

Although Mycroft and Sherlock didn't get along at first, after the first few visits Mycroft began to become protective of Sherlock, although the younger child still teased him on occasion. So the Holmes family took in the lost child, and he grew up under the name of Sherlock Holmes.


	7. Epilogue 2: 1990

**A/N: Still not my characters.**

The older boy had a headache and felt awful. He was lying face-down on a pavement somewhere. He gingerly sat up, and almost fell over from head rush. Although he could draw out a few facts from his mind about his past – he was Irish, he had two brothers, and he had been in London recently – he wasn't sure of his name, current location, or purpose. A fall from a height followed by a trip through a time stream can do that to a person.

Although he didn't know it, what had happened to Artemis was this: having been pulled into the timestream in a state of impaired consciousness meant that Artemis had been unable to hold his atoms together properly (incidentally, his impaired consciousness meant that his DNA had been muddled slightly, the only side effect of this was his remaining original eye turning brown to match Holly's). However, the genius's unconscious will power combined with the energy from his recent healing meant that when he couldn't cope with the tunnel's force any more, he simply fell out of the time stream just over six years early – August 26th, 1994.

The boy couldn't remember his name. A few things flitted through his mind – a Gospel name, either James or John, death (or almost death), and someone called Arty. Having no other material, the boy decided that these must be part of his name. It was 50/50 on the first name – he went for James on the basis of alphabetical order. The surname was harder to 'remember'. But just a second… Wasn't there an Irish surname, Moriarty? It had the word 'arty' in, for a start. And 'mori' was similar to the Latin for 'death'. His name, therefore, must be James Moriarty. There was no-one around who could tell him it was all made up…

Knowing that he was Irish (or at least had an accent from an area near Dublin), and having plenty of money in a rucksack (he wasn't to know that the money, the rucksack, and indeed his whole self were in fact from the future), he walked off to book a plane ticket for Dublin, Ireland.

Having arrived in Ireland, the young boy realised he didn't have anywhere to go. He had enough money to stay in a small hotel for five nights, so he did that, trying to work out what to do next. Unfortunately for him, nothing came to mind.

Five days later, he wandered out into the streets. He was sure he would think of something (he had to – didn't he?). He leant against a wall to think things through.

Seb was bored. The sixteen-year-old had only recently moved to the area, and he didn't have anything to do. SO when he saw the dark-haired boy, he didn't think twice before walking over. "I'm Seb. Who are you?"

The boy paused. "Name's James Moriarty. But you can call me Jim. Hi-i!"

Seb was easy to get along with, and when Jim told him he didn't know where to go, he thought nothing of bringing his new friend home. So Jim stayed the night. And the next. And the next. Soon, he was regarded as the Moran family's second son, and when Jim started hacking international banks and arranging… _things_… (no-one was around to stop him this time) nobody minded. They needed the money, and the family had a bit of a criminal reputation anyway.

But one residual memory stayed in Jims mind, from a past life he didn't know he had.

He had to find Sherlock Holmes.

**A/N: Not finished yet!**


	8. Epilogue 3: 2011

**A/N: *Cackles wildly* Yeah, sure, I'm gonna try and claim copyright on someone else's characters, and risk their wrath! /sarcasm**

**So, here you are. At the ending. I've finished the story, the first time I've done so. I hope you've enjoyed the tale 3**

Sherlock didn't know what to do. For a start, that boy had disappeared by the time he reached the pavement, and the paramedics denied all knowledge of seeing the boy. He had texted Mycroft, asking for the CCTV video. His brother had ignored the request for ten minutes, and then sent him a video of a heat haze and a flashing light. Obviously photoshopped. Sherlock was stumped.

Secondly, John. He was missing his old friend, and he felt bad about what had happened, and he could move back to 221B… But was he ready to face his broken reputation?

For possibly the first time in his current life, Sherlock made a decision based almost entirely on sentiment.

John was bored. He would be perfectly fine going home, he was sure of it, but the hospital people were insisting on his staying on for a few days. Molly Hooper had come to visit him though (bringing, for some reason, a pot of raspberry jam), but she had left half an hour ago. He had resorted to browsing the news pages of various websites. The Fowl boy hadn't been in contact for a while, but John knew he shouldn't expect too much.

He rose to stand at the window. It was a London NHS hospital, and therefore a slightly boring view. He didn't see or hear the door creaking open and closed, and didn't notice the tall man standing behind him until he turned around. "Oh, Jesus!" he said. Then he recognised the face and his jaw dropped. Literally.

"John. I'm back."

"Sherlock? What. The Hell?"

"I'm sorry, John… I can exp—" and that was as jar as Sherlock got before John punched him.

Ten minutes later, John was arguing with two nurses over whether he could leave. They were arguing that he had a broken collarbone and had lost a lot of blood, that he needed to be monitored; he was shouting that he was a doctor, he knew what to do, he'd be fine. John, of course, won.

As he brought his small bag out from the cupboard he'd been assigned, Sherlock stood watching, confused. "What're you doing?"

"We, idiot. Isn't it obvious? We're going home."

**~FIN~**


End file.
